


In the Absence of Light

by MarshmallowNerd



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Team as Family, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowNerd/pseuds/MarshmallowNerd
Summary: In moments of darkness, it is not help or consolation she seeks. Only love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A small gift to all my friends in rare-pair hell. Inspired by this prompt: http://sssn-neptune-vasilias.tumblr.com/post/110874531163/otpdisaster-person-b-knowing-theyre-undoubtedly

Stark Tower now resembled something out of those post-apocalyptic movies Natasha sometimes pushed for during team bonding. Now, she was beginning to regret ever entertaining the image as she scampered across the Tower’s demolished forty-seventh floor, which was now a part of the forty-eighth floor as various pieces of the above level had crumbled through the other’s roof, threatening to crush its floor as well.

Natasha took special care in navigating through the damage, despite the phone pressed to her ear allowing Clint to ramble worriedly in her ear. Not that she could blame him for doing so; after deciding to retire from the field, he had to hear about the incident indirectly, from the public news. Not that ‘incident’ was how she would ever describe it. It was much more than that. And it had happened so randomly, yet so powerfully, that thinking about it still caught her off-guard.

Nothing had been out of the ordinary beforehand. Then, when she had been making her way to Stark’s workspace to check the progress of Steve’s current mission, one of the central floors of the Tower suddenly exploded. Things understandably spiraled from there, Stark having found her trapped in one of the labs with the help of his Iron Man suit. Afterwards, he flew lower to investigate the cause of the explosion while Natasha, Pepper, and Maria worked on evacuating the Tower employees from their various places in the building. Having been closest to the blast, Natasha’s area mostly had victims that were beyond saving. It was tragic, but what really churned something in Natasha’s chest was the thought of her one teammate who had been at the Tower and still remained unresponsive: Wanda.

It was unlike her to do nothing in such catastrophe, and said chaos was impossible for her to have missed. The lack of scarlet wisps lurking around, helping them with debris or victims, could only mean that the girl was unable to. And after working with Wanda in the field before, Natasha knew only a serious injury could prevent her from using her magic. So, Natasha snatched an abandoned cell phone and contacted the only Avenger she knew was free to help her. Through Clint, she found out the news was already covering a bombing at Stark Tower, courtesy of a small band of men. Not Hydra agents, but aspiring to be. Natasha had no time to dwell on how she felt about that, instead pushing Clint to ensure a medical team was on its way to her floor as she sought out Wanda, who they both had reasonable belief to be grievously hurt.

And frankly, once she finally did find her teammate, she was never more horrified to be right.

“ _Bozhe moi_ ,” she whispered. “Clint, I found her. Make sure that team gets up here, quick!”

She didn’t leave much room for his response, hanging up by habit alone as she shoved the small device in her pocket and hurried across the ruined room. So much of the roof had caved in that the place was nearly unrecognizable. Only Wanda was unmistakable, even though she was practically hidden from view, curled in on herself beneath a large slab of plaster and cement. At the sound of Natasha nearing, she uncurled as best she could with whatever was trapping her. From the way she held her hands pressed to her middle, Natasha presumed that it was keeping her pinned her from there.

“Wanda? Hey, kid?” Natasha knelt by the witch’s face, which she could tell was disturbingly devoid of color despite the bluish hue shed by the emergency power lights overhead. She tried to assess the girl’s condition and the best course of action for it, with the limited medical experience she had. “Hey. Have you been stuck there long?”

‘Stuck’ felt like a graphic understatement, though Wanda didn’t mention it. Not that she could do so very well, as Natasha noticed her mouth wrap around some sort of response only for her voice to hoarsely croak in place of the first word.

“Here, can you squeeze my hand?” Natasha outstretched her hand, offering her palm.

Wanda gave a soft grunt as she squeezed a stiff arm between the slab of ceiling and her body to reach Natasha. Even when she managed to free her limb, her hand flailed a few times around Natasha’s, as though she were too dizzy to properly locate it. She grit her teeth in frustration at this, her eyes beginning to swirl with scarlet flecks. As they did, a matching red peeked from between her fingers, wildly twisting until they latched onto the slab above her. The more Wanda’s emotions grew, the more she inadvertently made her powers push at the object trapping her. It lifted some, granting Natasha a view of some sort of metal rod jabbing into the girl’s midsection. As the slab lifted upward, the rod was pushed further, and Natasha reacted immediately after this made Wanda cry out in pain.

“Hey—hey! It’s OK. Don’t strain yourself,” the spy directed, finally grabbing Wanda’s hand herself. The witch relaxed, panting loudly from her futile efforts. “Easy. You’re going to be fine. There’s a medic team is on its way—”

Wanda finally regained her voice, swallowing hard before she rasped, “‘Ames.”

“He’s still on mission with Sam and Steve,” Natasha told her, knowing she was referring to Barnes. A few days ago, Steve had taken him and Wilson for some sort of investigation in Dubai. _Of course it would be on the complete opposite side of the planet,_ Natasha thought bitterly, but schooled herself to remain a soothing presence for the injured witch. “With the comm line down, we weren’t able to notify them what happened. But an extraction team set out this morning, and should bring them back any moment. Look,” she pulled the stolen phone from her pocket and held it up for Wanda to see. “I found a phone, and got in contact with Clint, and a medical team—they’re going to find us any minute. I’m sure of it.”

Wanda didn’t look assured in any way. She wriggled her fingers free of Natasha’s grasp, gesturing to the best of her current ability to the phone screen. “James,” she repeated, sounding more determined this time. “Have to…”

She interrupted herself with a grunt, wincing as she tried to move her other arm, pinned between herself and the floor. Natasha couldn’t stop her small gasp to see the other hand freed after some struggle, revealing how coated it had become in a glistening, dark red substance that was all too familiar to the former assassin. “Have to…speak…James.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed with sorrow. Seeing how much blood was on Wanda’s hand alone put her in a position past arguing with the girl. Not that she wanted to. It was only a matter of refusing to accept Wanda could be dying from the wound hidden by shadows, and trying to make last requests as time ran against them. And refusal to believe time was winning.

She didn’t even know how to contact Barnes without the comms. But she did know the next best thing.

* * *

They’d barely set foot on the jet when the pilot began to repeatedly notify them that Steve’s personal line was blowing up. After shedding some of his heavy gear and stowing away his signature shield, the Captain finally saw to his phone. Across the ways, Bucky didn’t miss the puzzlement cross his face as he stared at his screen before contacting the number that had previously annoyed the flight crew so much in its persistence. “Hello?”

As he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, only a small amount of his confusion lifted. “Natasha? What…yeah, he’s here. Why do…OK, OK. Here he is.”

Steve paced across the room, and to Bucky’s surprise, handed the phone to him. Bucky frowned, which only deepened when he found himself staring at an unrecognizable number. Mistrust in such anonymity was among the several occupational hazards for them. Nevertheless, Steve left him with it, so Bucky brought the device up to his ear with an impatient, “What?” as greeting.

“James?”

Every semblance of irritation fractured and fell away in the instant he heard that voice—that accent, that was so familiar and comforting to hear even after only two days of separation. “Wanda?”

“My James,” she breathed, and he could picture that loving smile of hers as she spoke her name for him. The one used to rid him of his Winter Soldier title when he still didn’t feel like Steve’s old Bucky.

What he neglected to imagine, though, was the Tower in the state of disarray that it was, with Wanda trapped against rubble. Natasha was near her still, laying now with one hand in Wanda’s bloodied one, and the other brushing its thumb soothingly over the girl’s forehead. However, the younger Avenger did grin happily to hear his voice despite the situation.

“Hey, pretty witch. Are you OK?” he fretted.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too. But hey, the extraction team just got here. Should take off any minute now, and then in another few hours we’ll be home. Just waiting on Wilson, as usual.”

“Play nice,” she teased, managing to chuckle at his ceaseless, petty rivalry with Sam.

“I am, I am. Both with him and Steve, even though the punk dragged me out on this pointless chase to begin with.”

“Cause he’s a jerk?”

“Exactly,” he agreed wryly before turning serious again. “And you? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

She faltered for only a split second before answering honestly, “It’s cold here. And I’m getting a little sleepy.”

Natasha’s head perked up at that.

“Well, don’t wait up on me, witch. If you get some rest now, we still probably won’t be back until after you get up. You’re going to need the energy—I don’t intend to leave home again until you get sick of me,” he added teasingly.

Before he had finished speaking, Natasha was also whispering to Wanda, “Don’t go to sleep. You can rest, just…don’t go to sleep.”

Wanda’s smile was sad as her eyes met Natasha’s. She went on into the phone, “I love you, James. Stay safe, please. I love you very much.”

“Love you too. Take care of yourself, alright?”

Natasha scooted an inch closer, noticing in alarm that the hand held in hers had suddenly gone limp. “Wanda? Wanda, answer him,” she demanded, squeezing the girl’s wrist in urgency. Her other hand combed roughly through Wanda’s hair as her teammate’s face began to fall lax. When she felt a long, shuddering breath against her face, she pressed further, “Wanda, answer him!”

She framed the witch’s face with her hands, completely ignoring the phone that clattered to the floor between them. Bucky’s voice was audible, growing frantic and worried as he continued to be met with the distant sound of Natasha yelling hysterically at his girl. “Natasha? What’s happened—where’s Wanda?”

No one answered, which did nothing but feed his agitation. Steve straightened at the sight, matching his friend’s anxiousness with his own. “Buck, what’s wrong?”

Bucky didn’t hear him, too busy pouring his focus into the sounds over the phone. Another voice joined the fray, one he didn’t recognize, and his own helplessness pulled at his chest.

“ _Agent Romanoff? Are you down there?_ ”

“ _We’re here—we’re here! I’m fine, just help her. She’s not responding!_ ”

“ _Agent Romanoff, who’s with you?_ ”

“Wanda…” Bucky whimpered the name simultaneously with Natasha.

There was an obnoxious rattle as the other phone was moved aside. More voices added to the confusion, and the plates in Bucky’s metal arm shifted under his trepidation. Steve could hardly stand it, having already crossed over to his friend’s side. With Bucky’s attention elsewhere, he didn’t see an issue with leaning over the metal shoulder to listen with him.

Sam finally joined them, all of his gear retrieved. “What’s this—Stark planning a rave?”

Steve shushed him.

“ _Agent Romanoff, please don’t—_ ”

“ _No, no, no, no—get off of me! She needs help_!”

“ _Agent, we need you to stay calm._ ”

“ _Wanda—!_ ”

“ _We’re going to need someone to prep a defibrillator_!”

“Oh, God,” Steve breathed.

The phone rattled even more as activity on the other end grew busier. The anxiety both gentlemen felt to listen to the madness grow paled in comparison to the horrified chill felt when the other phone was crushed. Bucky cried out for his girl once more when their line suddenly cut off, leaving them with a low, whining beep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bozhe moi" - Oh, my God.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some moments here inspired by this lovely gifset: http://dia89.tumblr.com/post/146423145433/feel-free-to-use-in-rpgs-but-please-dont

The various beeps and whines of machinery was something she had made an unfortunate acquaintance with. Unfortunate, that is, in the manner of how. A wide variety of machines had been involved everywhere she went during her time spent as a human experiment.

And yet, for similar reasons, it was her only comfort in the unknown space she presently found herself in. So far it was purely pitch black nothingness, leaving her senses useless. Thus, finally hearing _anything_ was a relief, and she followed the sound to escape. It was a high-pitched beep that sounded consistently, almost in echo of her every step. As she traveled, she made out more sounds, such as a mechanic _whooshing_ , the scrape of shoes against squeaky-clean floors, and even other voices, soft and solemn. Although not necessarily in the secretive tone that her handlers typically used.

She finally found herself approaching somewhere new, though it only left her feeling more lost. After rounding the corner, she found an unsettling collection of strange artifacts, lit only by the odd light of some sort of spear. Despite hearing various whispers before, only one other person was there, seemingly unaware she was behind them. She didn’t recognize them as any of her handlers, but rather having a closer resemblance to…

 _Tony Stark_.

She nearly addressed him aloud, but for some reason, she simply _couldn’t_. Her mouth felt as though it were stuffed with cotton wool, not unlike the feeling in several of her nightmares.

Another presence suddenly rushed behind her like a burst of wind. She turned in curiosity, though without realization of her arm raising to their chest, effectively stalling them in their tracks. However, it was her heart that froze in place to recognize who was there.

_Pietro. But how…?_

He didn’t display any clue as to how he was alive and returned to her. His eyes were drawn solely to Stark, only glancing at her briefly in question. She couldn’t see why he was so set on Stark—they’d gotten past that history after their actions with Ultron brought even worse damage to Sokovia.

 _Ultron_ ….

Her gaze snapped back to Stark, who was assembling a metal gauntlet over his hand to grab the scepter. Looking at the scene now, she realized that it was more than just familiar. It was _exactly_ the same as the moment where she’d first used her powers to take advantage of someone—of Tony Stark, and his fears. This was her memory of planting the idea in his mind that would lead to Ultron. Back when she had been consumed by vengeance, which blinded her to how much destruction the robotic creation would cause until it was too late.

 _No. No, no, no, no, this is when…this is how I killed you_.

She turned back to her brother, completely oblivious to how this would eventually end. She had dreams of reuniting with him before, and his presence was always what confirmed that the experience was unreal. And afterwards, the reminder of his loss would only become more painful than the last time.

_I need to wake up._

She retreated from her brother’s side like a spooked animal. She ignored his puzzled concern, despite her instinct to embrace him, and revel in a reunion. It just wasn’t real.

Instead, she returned the way she came, welcoming the darkness now. She searched, and searched, and _searched_ , but there was no indication she was going to wake. Rather, she only made herself feel as though she were suffocating, driving her to simply stop and close her eyes for the moment, allowing the sounds around her to take over. It did nothing to ease the tightness in her lungs, or the feeling of numbness in her mouth. However, she did manage to submerge them as her attention went to the noises around her, which she presumed to come from the waking world.

There was one voice that somehow felt closer than the rest, as if right by her ear.

“If I’d just found you sooner—”

“Tasha…”

She knew those two voices. She remembered them as light, and friendly.

“Maybe you should go back—”

“I’m _fine_. I don’t go into shock, Pepper. I’m a remorseless assassin.”

“Sure, and Tony made his fortune with his singing voice.”

_Stark? What happened to him?_

There was a beat of silence, and it was enough to worry her that she’d fallen back into the nothingness of dreamless sleep. Then the voice beside her returned, and with it, she felt a cool pressure wrap around her hand. “Did they say what…?”

“Yes. Apparently the rebar did most of the damage—internal bleeding, hurt one of her lungs, put her body into shock. Her heart’s working overtime to fix everything. They don’t know how her powers are affecting everything, but she’s going to need a blood transfusion. Steve’s made an offer, so they’re going to try waiting for his super-soldier blood.”

 _The super solider? What happened to_ him _?_

The other presence made a hum of acknowledgement. There was another beat of silence, this one longer, and it made her heart drop anxiously just like before. Then the first voice returned again, close enough now that she could feel the warmth of their breath on her ear. “Can you hear this, kid? Steve’s on his way, and he’ll have his team with him. _Barnes_ is on his way, just like I promised. Just a couple hours left, and Barnes will be here.”

She was growing tired, now knowing that she was definitely fading back into sleep. However, she had one more thought pressing at her tongue just before she succumbed to a promising rest.

_Who?_

* * *

When she awoke, it was no longer dark. Rather, it was so bright, she had to cup a hand above her eyes to protect her groggy sight. The room was ridiculously spotless, with everything bathed in the yellowish tint of fluorescent bulbs.

One glance around herself brought her to the discovery that she was in a small bathroom, standing at the mirror. Taking in the sight of her reflection, she found her hair was messy, and even slightly wet. The towel wrapped around her body was clue enough to the latter condition, and she assumed she had just finished in the shower. Yet that didn’t do anything to solve her first question.

_How did I get here?_

She shook her head as if it were that simple to clear her mind of confusion. Keeping the dark brown towel securely around herself, she left the room to find her belongings. She made it only three steps from the bathroom when she spotted her clothes, haphazardly scattered on the floor. Then she realized that she didn’t recognize the floor, or _any_ of the room for that matter. She had only recently begun living at the Avengers’ Facility (for lack of anywhere else to go), and this place strongly resembled her room. Though there was significantly less of her personal influence.

And of course, a brooding man with long hair sitting on the edge of the bed. When he noticed her, though, the darkness in his expression fell away. The corners of his lips quirked in the smallest of smiles, and she was shocked at the flutter she felt in her chest to see him so genuinely happy. “You’re still here,” he whispered, as if in awe to see her there. His voice rasped slightly, the way one usually does when it isn’t used often.

“Of course.” She heard her voice, but didn’t feel her mouth move. It was a strange feeling, as though something were caught in her mouth, preventing her from actually speaking.

 _No…this is another dream_.

Not just a dream, but a memory. Now that she knew this, she began to recognize more details. Most of all, she recognized _him_. The permanently defensive demeanor, haunted pale eyes, dark hair…his left shoulder suddenly tapered off into the seam of a metal arm.

_You’re Barnes. Steve’s Bucky. My James._

She finally remembered this moment—the morning after he had moved into the Facility, and among their first nights _together_. He had been in such disbelief to wake up genuinely content for the first time in so long, she would spend the next few moments convincing him it hadn’t been a dream.

But _this_ was. And she needed to wake up. What if he needed her?

_James, where are you?_

She darted back into the bathroom, shutting the lights off so as to submerge herself in darkness like before, in the hope that would push herself to wake. But it was to no avail as she once again felt the suffocation of pure nothingness. There was only a small comfort in what she believed was his voice nearby, low and gravelly, but not in the same manner as it had been in this memory. She focused on it— _held on_ to him with his words.

“So many machines…”

She needed to wake up. He sounded upset.

_James? Are you alright?_

“Stop it, Buck. You heard ‘em. With her magic helping her, she should be able to pull through.”

“She can’t even _breathe_ on her own, Stevie.”

She felt pressure envelop her right hand again, this one colder and a little too firm. Yet at the same time, it was comforting in its familiarity. She wasn’t even aware that the texture was unusual until another, this one warmer and calloused, hesitantly wrapped around the fingers of her other hand.

“I know, Bucky. But she’s a fighter, and you know it. Even if it is too much, I’d give her every drop of the serum I have if it would help.”

No one responded directly to that, and the surrounding world fell quiet. Although this time, she wasn’t at all worried about falling back under. She was still too aware of the pressure that remained at her right hand, one digit beginning to sweep over her knuckles. Then she felt a different warmth press firmly against the back of her hand, tender and loving.

“You thought that was going to be the last…and you didn’t…”

There was a puff of hot air against her ear, and the alternate pressure that had been at her hand now blossomed against her temple.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care, doll. Just…feel better. Please.”

She could feel herself drifting off again, but she didn’t want to leave him when she could so clearly hear he was hurting.

“I’ve already lost everything once before.”

_I’m here, James, I promise._

_I’m here._

* * *

When she came to again, it wasn’t nearly as bright, though it wasn’t pitch darkness either. She was hunched over in the center of a small room, this one lit only by a single lamp in the corner. She straightened to stretch out some of her stiffened joints, realizing she was sitting in the most uncomfortable chair she could ever fathom. Not that she was about to leave for that, though, because at her knees was a hospital bed holding _her_ James.

 _This is another dream_.

She’d grown better at recognizing her own memories, but she found she still couldn’t wake from this odd series of them. She missed James, and missed being able to actually hold on to him as she did here. This memory followed a mission in Bucharest that had gone south very fast, and sent them to this quiet hospice after he had been shot in his good shoulder (not that she saw his metal one as bad—he just always referred to his flesh one as the good arm). There had been no doubt he would recover, but she remembered feeling distressed that he’d been hurt, regardless of how minor.

Now, though, she knew he would be alright, because she had seen it for herself before. She only savored in the ability to run her thumb over his flesh hand as she waited for either him to wake or her. Preferably the latter, given how this was not real.

She grew impatient with waiting very fast, and eventually found herself hunching even further to rest her head on the edge of the bed, still holding onto his hand even when she sealed her eyes closed. She forced herself to drift away from the dream, searching for the real world with her other senses.

At first it was frustrating to only feel his hand over hers still, believing it was part of the memory. However, as she began to catch the sound of his voice again, she found that the touch at her right hand was actually both of _his_ wrapped around hers. She recognized it in the unorthodox sensation of cool metal and warm skin simultaneously holding onto her.

_James? Are you there still? What’s happened?_

Damn, her voice still wouldn’t cooperate.

“Hey, man. Everyone’s heading to the facility.”

_That’s Sam._

“Stark found the bombers—he’s helping Steve bring them in. Cap thought you’d want to get a good swing in before Natasha does.”

The metal encircling her wrist tightened. Then it was followed by gentle flesh lacing between her fingers, with one digit rubbing anxiously against the side of her hand.

“What if she wakes up when I’m not here?”

“Hey, it’s completely up to you. Natasha’s just getting kind of impatient, waiting on us. She’s really itching to get her hands on them.”

The pleasant brushing against her hand stilled for a moment, and she missed it almost instantly. Then the metal around that hand retreated as well, and she didn’t like that any better.

_Don’t go!_

Something pressed against her hair, and she finally recognized the feeling as the loving kisses she was beginning to miss even more than his hands in hers.

“I’m not leaving you, pretty witch. I’ll just be right back.”

His voice was right by her ear now, and she selfishly wanted him closer. More so than that, she wanted to _see_ him, and not just in some dream. She wanted to feel connected enough to her own body to properly enjoy his presence.

_Why can’t I get up?_

“The bastards that caused all this…they need to know what they’ve done. What they did to you.”

Another kiss to her hair. And then his equal warmth and coolness was gone completely.

_Where are you going? Don’t leave!_

She felt too detached from her own body to protest. All she could do was lay there and hope he came back, but he didn’t. She was left behind, trapped alone in her own body and afraid because of it.

_Please, don’t leave!_

_You promised you wouldn’t leave._  

* * *

She came to within the same hospital scene as before. She recognized the dream right away, and very nearly broke down from pure frustration. She didn’t know how that would affect the memory of this moment, where she had waited at James’s side until he healed enough to stir. After he woke up, he would apologize for scaring her and promise to always come home to her.

_But you haven’t. Not this time, even though you promised!_

Had she been feeling more like herself, she would probably be more understanding of his absence. But she wasn’t herself, and that made her confused and scared, leaving little room for forgiveness. Especially when this strange occurrence left her no way to find out _where_ James had gone and _why_.

 _What happened? Better that, what happened_ to me _?_

She searched and pulled at every memory she could reach in her mind, yet so far, she could only reach the ones she had revisited in these dreams, and those that provided context for them. Her most recent recollections were of this, which happened over three months ago, and everything she heard before falling into dreamless sleep. She had reached a point of not only attempting to wake up, but also just feel for those new memories, hoping they would spur more recent ones.

_Just come back. Let me hear you._

She willed herself back into complete darkness, pushing her body to rely on hearing alone. Not matter how hard she pushed and _pushed_ , there was nothing but the continuous symphony of monotonous machinery. Yet it wasn’t enough to discourage her from trying.

After what felt like eternity, her persistence paid off. Voices began to break through, although neither of them belonged to her James.

“Damn, it’s getting crowded in here. You know Stark can move all this stuff out, right?”

“He offered, but we told him not to worry about it. He’s still got to rebuild the injured half of his ‘baby’.”

_Natasha! Do you know what’s happened?_

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve—”

“Stop, Clint. We already went over it. Sam was right, we all did everything we could.”

“No kidding…with all these people coming out, talking about all the stuff _she_ did to help them all out even when that shit began to fall on her. I didn’t know—”

“Me neither.”

Cool hands combed over her head. They weren’t the same coldness provided by James’s metal fingers, but still held a comfortable familiarity nonetheless.

_Are they talking about me? What did I do?_

“Can she hear any of this?”

“Doctors didn’t say. I don’t think they know. Something about interrupted blood supply made it uncertain how her brain was affected.”

“So we’re really just going to sit around and wait?”

_No, no! I’m here—I’m listening, damn it! Tell me what happened, how I can fix it!_

She was ready to break down, pouring her storm of emotions towards her lungs to scream her frustration. But her lungs paid her no heed, meeting her every push with a constricting pain, as though they were being held too firmly in an iron embrace.

_What is this? Did I…did I get hurt?_

She scoured her memories again, baffled at how she couldn’t remember damage done to her own self.

_Natasha referenced Stark’s prized tower. Did something happen there?_

_Oh, God, did_ I _do something? My powers…?_

She pushed further through her mind, yet all she found concerning the Tower was of purely domestic moments. Spending time with her teammates. Her private moments with James when one of them couldn’t sleep. Waiting for him by herself when he went away for overnight missions.

_When did that happen last? What did I do then?_

She usually shadowed Natasha, receiving training for her own missions.

_But I didn’t the last time, I…God, what did I do?_

The mission was in Dubai. She remembered that much. James had to go because it involved Hydra—a possible base.

 _No…no_ , _that was a ruse!_

She remembered trailing someone that wasn’t Natasha. A set of young men disguised as a cleaning service, with particularly loud thoughts. She hadn’t been able to keep herself from listening. They were planning something big, but she couldn’t tell specifically what because they _knew_ she was there as they assembled it in a janitorial room. They knew she had the ability to listen, to _hear_ them dream of a life sending Captain America’s team on wild goose chases so they could wreck chaos and terror elsewhere. Specifically where _she_ was, but she had powers to shield people, and even will them to escape before catastrophe struck.

_But I didn’t get them all…the ground was breaking, and I—I thought I was in Sokovia again._

She _remembered_ it. The ceiling caving in, and her being unable to both hold it up with her powers and help get Stark’s employees out. She _let_ it fall, and it was crushing her—stabbing her, and she was waiting to be killed.

She had waited for Pietro.

“Is that her heartbeat? Is it supposed to be doing that?”

“I don’t think…no. No, go get a medic. Hurry!”

_Natasha. You came instead. I remember._

“Kid? If you can hear me…don’t do this. You have to hang in there, OK? Come on, Wanda!”

A strong grip wrapped around her hand, pulled tight with desperation.

_“Here, can you squeeze my hand?”_

_Yes! Yes, I can!_

_I remember._

All of her previous frustration and pushing was now directed into her hand to follow through Natasha’s request from that day.

_“Don’t strain yourself.”_

_No, I can do it. I can do it!_

It was the simplest task to ask of herself, but it took all of her energy. Nevertheless, she forced her muscles to become tense, tightening around silky flesh that was not her own. And she could hear her victory in Natasha’s voice.

“Wanda? Is that you?”

She didn’t know how, but somehow she managed to squeeze again, even though it exhausted her.

_I’m not going to fade this time. I’m right here!_

“ _Bozhe moi._ She’s responsive!”

_Yes. I’m here._

_I’m here._


	3. Chapter 3

They had been expecting to hear the worst. Call it cynical if you must, but that was just how life usually was to him. So after trading his bedside vigil with Natasha, terror unlike anything he’d felt in all his time as Hydra’s guard dog shook him to see a call from her.

 _She’s awake. She woke up when I wasn’t there_ , had been his foremost thought. In the back of his mind came the possibility that it was much worse, and they’d found she wasn’t going to wake at all. But he didn’t dare dwell on that possibility, for it would only slow him down in returning to her side. The entire ordeal gnawed at his chest in a way rivaled only by the first time he’d rushed to that same hospital, guided then only by Barton directing Steve over phone. They had found Natasha waiting in the ICU ward with Pepper at her side, quite possibly the only thing keeping her calm. When he’d approached, Natasha sprung up to meet him halfway, immediately spurring out how Wanda was alive. He had barely listened, too determined to see for himself. And only to discover she was _barely_ alive, having to rely on several machines to help her heal. Machines had been keeping her hydrated, giving her new blood (eventually, Steve’s), and even kept her _breathing_.

After all the things machines had done to him in his life, he never would have fathomed they would be what kept the light of his world from being snuffed out.

Now, though, such machinery had thankfully been reduced some. Natasha’s call turned out to be informing that Wanda had become responsive, and thus, was considered stable enough to be moved out of the ICU. There was reportedly a lot of damage left for her to recover from still, and quite possibly more pain that she was aware of. That was the only downside to her healing progress he could think of, but it was enough to tempt him into returning to the compound, where the bombers responsible were being held so he could rip them a new one. He very nearly had torn them apart already, and had only stopped in a fleeting moment where he thought he’d heard her voice. It was all in his mind, yet still felt incredibly lifelike. Her gentle, caring tone, pleading with him not to give in to the violent ways Hydra had ingrained into him after so long.

“You don’t have to do those things anymore,” she had told him once, in the wake of a night terror that involved his horrid imprisonment. “You don’t belong to them. You don’t belong to anyone.”

The comfort and security he had found in her unwavering love—both in that moment, and every other with her—was one of few things he still treasured in this world, and he longed for more. By now, he wouldn’t even know what he would do with himself if she were no longer around for guidance or support. And yet, for the past few days, the only consolation anyone could offer was “it’s a matter of waiting”.

Then finally, his patience (as forced as it was) paid off at last.

He felt it with the smallest of squeezes against his flesh hand. His every sense sprung into high alert, silently willing for the sensation to be confirmed as more than his imagination. Then she whimpered, and he squeezed her hand back, coaxing her to stir. “Sweetheart?” he pressed gently, running the back of his metal fingers down the side of her face.

Another noise escaped her, this one slightly strained.

“It’s alright, doll. What’s the matter?”

She groaned, a noise akin to whenever she was frustrated, before managing something more comprehensible. “…‘m here. I’m…here.”

His heart nearly stalled under such consuming relief, and he was standing over her before he knew he was moving, pressing a firm kiss to the side of her head. And another.

When he drew back, her eyelids were sluggishly peeling open, unveiling hazy green irises. Although, as her clouded eyes settled on his face, a small wrinkle of puzzlement formed between her brows. It sent him into a small moment of selfish fear as he vaguely recalled something said about interrupted blood supply affecting her mind, and thinking of how after everything they had each been through, for _her_ not to remember him…that would just be too cruel.

But then in a literal blink, her eyes filled with a glimmer of wetness. A threat of tears born from relief, from _love_. “James,” she rasped, her voice painfully dry. “My James.”

Another powerful wave of relief swarmed in his chest, again moving him only on instinct. He was afraid of somehow causing her to break if he pushed too far too soon, so he opted to press another kiss to the same spot just above her ear, shakily whispering “ _Da. Ya tvoi._ ”

When he pulled back, that same wrinkle was there, this time born from concern. “OK?”

He couldn’t help his huff of laughter. To be in her condition, still in pain, and yet more concerned about him was so unabashedly _her_ , and he’s missed her so much. “I’m alright, sweetheart. Hardly a scratch on me, but… _moya lyubov,_ do you remember what happened to _you_?”

Her expression grew distant, eyes seemingly searching the empty air for recollection. Then they snapped back up to him, wide in alarm and fear. “Tower….”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He hurriedly swept his flesh-and-blood fingers along her arm in an attempt to soothe his girl as she grew more and more worried. “But it’s all over now. The Tower’s being rebuilt, the team’s alright.”

The fear in her expression transformed into sorrow, and his heart wrenched at the sight. “How many…they didn’t…?”

He gently squeezed her arm to indicate he understood what she was trying to ask. And despite feeling she was in no condition to distress herself further, he also knew there was no point in keeping the answer from her. “Seven.”

It was a small number compared to what could’ve been, but for her, it’s clearly seven too many. At his answer, she averted her gaze to the floor, her expression twisted in mourning for strangers she didn’t know, but also couldn’t save.

“But it would’ve been so many more if it weren’t for you, pretty witch—if you hadn’t acted as quickly as you did. And those you got out are _so_ grateful, sweetheart.”

He wished she could know how grateful those civilians were. As soon as the public news revealed that the Scarlet Witch had gotten grievously injured during the incident, the families and friends of those she had willed to escape before the explosion rallied outside the hospital, claiming their thoughts and prayers were with the young Avenger. Several had even sent gifts or letters, which had been kept in her previous hospital room while the Tower was still under so much construction. They had been taken to the Avengers Facility after she had been moved, deciding not to risk overwhelming her first thing when she woke up. Now, though, he wished he had some of the artifacts with him, to show her how he wasn’t the only one who saw her as a hero.

Her gaze found him again, her usually clear and bright eyes still clouded in grief. It distressed him so much because she should be _healing_ , and yet she was taking on more pain emotionally because not everyone was saved, the objective wasn’t completed, and she feels responsible (and he blames Steve’s influence on her for the total disregard for her own self). Even as weak as she was now, she could palpably sense his upset and brought a sluggish arm up to caress his face in consolation. “James…”

He pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist, savoring the feeling of her skin and willing it to replace the memory of thinking she had been lost forever.

“I’m sorry—”

Bucky shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, _moya lyubov_.”

“But I worried you.”

He avoided her eye at that, ducking his gaze down at his flesh hand still wrapped lightly over her wrist. He couldn’t deny that he had been shaken—terrified, in fact. If not for Natasha that day, she would have continued to interact with him without any indication something was amiss until the damage became fatal. And _that_ disturbs him more than anything.

He was silent as he gathered his thoughts, then resumed his recently acquired habit of rubbing his thumb against her soft skin, tracing the healthy thrum of her pulse beneath the surface. “I’ll always worry. But that’s because I love you so, pretty witch.”

She brought her forehead to rest against his, whispering tiredly, “I love you too, James.”

It made him shiver slightly, remembering those same words from her in a similar tone while she nearly bled to death.

“Please don’t try to pull that ever again,” he begged, even though she probably wasn’t aware of what he had in mind (and she would never look for herself without his permission). “If you’re hurt, get yourself help. Don’t worry about me.”

Even with their foreheads pressed together, he could hear the solemn smile in her next words. “I’ll always worry. I love you.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. He settled for a tender squeeze at the part of her palm not hooked to any machinery and peppered kisses over her face, still somewhat high off of relief and joy to see her returning to health.

Of course, she wasn’t completely out of the woods just yet. She was still in a deal of pain, and very weak, prompting several medics to shuttle in and out to monitor her state. Eventually, one nurse assured that she was healing at a better rate than they anticipated, and only then did Bucky fetch the rest of the team from a waiting area down the hall. They all crowded into the small room at once, each concerned but also eager to see how their young teammate was faring.

Bucky sort of envied Natasha for being confident enough to strut inside and immediately crawl onto the bed beside Wanda, latching onto her for physical reassurance. Steve was more hesitant, instead keeping next to Bucky at her bedside as he quietly relayed everything she had missed in the past few days, both from their personal lives and the public news. Sam and Clint cut in every now and then with something intended to make her laugh, with Wilson even admitting he was currently “taking it easy” on Barnes because he knew a certain “Glinda” wouldn’t approve. Stark, for once, had very little to offer verbally, aside from an occasional add-on to Pepper’s queries if Wanda was comfortable enough. Which she insisted she was. Just “fine”, in fact.

Bucky so wanted to believe her. He wanted to be convinced by her tired smile as she interacted with her little makeshift family. But after so long with her safety and comfort as his priority, he had grown accustomed to the slighter signs that she was troubled. Her hands lingering around her midsection was an obvious indication that her wound was still bothering her. Her eyes were somewhat distracted, reflecting her thoughts were still with those that hadn’t been saved. And maybe even with the fact she had nearly joined them.

 _That_ was something he hadn’t been able to sense. As much as he prided himself as her protector, none of his intense training or field experience had made him able to sense something was wrong over phone. And suddenly, he felt guilt for such a critical shortcoming. An ugly feeling, that was rising and expanding from his core until he could hardly stand it.

He leaned over her once again to press his lips to her forehead, promising to be right back after a moment. She looked crushed and so _small_ to watch him leave, but Clint quickly amended his absence with some light-hearted questions about visiting his farm.

The next thing Bucky knew, he was in the corridor just outside her room. Not too far away, but still with some privacy from the rest of the team as his thoughts raced from him. He tried in vain to control the swarm, running his metal hand roughly through his hair, and nearly pulling some strands loose in the process. He heard her voice again—the false one conjured in the back of his mind, gently urging him to be easy with himself.

_Why did this happen to you, sweetheart? Why did it happen? You never deserved it, never._

“Hey.”

He started, more so from being caught off-guard than from Natasha’s ability to appear so suddenly behind him, or even that it was _Natasha_ that had come after him. He had always sensed Natasha still hadn’t quite forgiven him for several things, shooting her twice and nearly killing Steve in DC the most prominent among them. But recently they had found something to share, and that was a fondness for Wanda.

She adjusted her slightly messed hair from laying with Wanda before crossing her arms over her chest, eyeing him intently. “How’re you holding up?”

He bit back a huff, incredulous as to how _he_ could be receiving that question given the situation. “I’m alright.”

She eyed him a heartbeat more, clearly honing in her skills of observation similar to his. “She’s getting better.”

His eyes are trained on the floor. He didn’t want to acknowledge what’s on his mind, but it positively _demanded_ to be recognized out loud. “She nearly died.”

He braced himself for the assurance that she hadn’t. Perhaps a reiteration that she was on the mend. Although, Natasha was nothing, if not surprising.

“I thought she had.”

Bucky did look up at that, noticing Natasha’s sorrowful smile before _her_ gaze fell to the pastel tiles beneath their feet. “When I was with her…” she shifted her weight slightly in discomfort. “Before they found us…I thought I felt her go. I had her face in my hands, and I felt….”

She never finished the thought. Bucky pretended not to notice her swipe quickly at her eye as she desperately tried to recuperate from the onslaught of emotion. It occurred to him only then that he hadn’t even thanked her for getting help to Wanda that day. It was one thing to have a chance over phone to do something, like he or Barton, but another entirely to actually _be there_ and act no matter how pressing the circumstances became.

He found himself envying her less now, and more respecting her. He could only imagine how it must’ve felt when all that could be done was wait with Wanda, uncertain when they’d be found amidst the devastation as she faded. To push through that feeling, keeping at Wanda’s side until he took over, and then moving immediately on to help detain the bombers responsible. And help rebuild the Tower. And keep the concerned civilians updated, while still keeping their hopes up. He owes the former spy a lot for so many efforts to better the ordeal. So much more than what he weakly mustered. “Thank you. For…all you did.”

Natasha shook her head, her burdened smile returning as she willed herself to meet his eye again. “It wasn’t just me. She’s a strong kid. That’s why she’s going to get better.”

Bucky frowned slightly at that, his mind going back to how Wanda pretended to be completely well for her teammates. She had been in significant pain before, long before the Avengers had taken her in. Then, she had only had her brother as a comfort, and even he was kept from her at times if he remembered Strucker’s ways well enough. Now, when in the wake of trauma, she had several who directly gave love and support to seeing her heal (dozens even, if he counts the mass waiting outside the hospital building), and that must be so novel and warming for her. It makes her ignorance to her own suffering seem less like reckless self-disregard, and more of a genuine comfort in their being there.

“No,” he finally replied to Natasha’s thought. “It’s because she has a home to come back to.”

The red-haired Avenger mulled over the idea for a select few heartbeats, before settling the brief discussion with a curt nod of understanding.

Just as she began to shuffle back to the room, Bucky added, “Romanoff?”

She looked over her shoulder in acknowledgement, stalling in her tracks.

“I won’t mention the tears. If you don’t want me to.”

She breathed out a laugh, and this time, the amusement appeared to actually reach her eyes. “Good. I’d hate to see another teammate in one of those beds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Da. Ya tvoi" - Yes. I'm yours.  
> "Moya lyubov" - My love.


End file.
